CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Hammers are our friends.
Chase
"Hello?" Her voice sounded off.
"Trace?" I said her name slowly. "Are you okay? Nixon said you left class and— Are you crying?"
She hesitated. She never hesitated.
"No."
"But you texted 911. Usually that means you're either upset or someone called you a whore again…"
Her breathing was heavy.
"Trace?"
"Yeah?"
He was with her. He had to be.
"How hot is it in Arizona?" Arizona was our nickname for Phoenix.
"Scorching," she answered quickly.
"Shit." I hung up the phone and quickly traced her number. I'd put Find a Friend on both our phones so I could track her like the stalker bodyguard I was.
She was at the Batcave.
I sent the fastest text I could to Nixon and started to run.
My mind wouldn't stop replaying images of her eyes. Would Phoenix actually hurt her? Would he try anything? Would he dare touch a girl under my protection? Under Nixon's authority?
An eternity passed between the time Nixon and I met and when we tried to break down the door.
It had probably only been five minutes, but it felt like five years — five years of not knowing if she was breathing, if she had a gun pointed to her head, if she was afraid.
The door pushed open.
Phoenix was on her. His body pressed against hers in a way that made me want to cut off his balls, let him suffer for a day or two, and then shoot him in the foot, only to let him suffer longer, get a staph infection, and die.
Nixon yelled and charged toward him, but all I could see was Trace. I'd lusted after her for weeks, and now her shirt was ripped almost completely off, her skirt nearly gone. My stomach was sick. I could barely take a few steps toward her before I wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob against her chest.
No girl deserved that.
No girl asked for it.
And most girls never recovered.
I'd wanted to protect her from the ugly, but instead it seemed I was too late. I'd failed to protect her — I'd failed to do my duty. When it mattered the most. I. Had. Failed.
"Trace—" I whispered and pulled her into my arms, covering her with my jacket.
Her soft body trembled against me; her skin was freezing. I clutched her so tight my arms hurt. As Nixon beat the hell out of Phoenix, she sank harder and harder against me, like I was her everything.
Like I didn't just fail her.
"Hammer." Nixon's eyes met mine.
I nodded toward the cupboard. Frank went over and grabbed the hammer as well as a few zip ties.
The threats continued, but they were muffled to my ears — everything was. All I could focus on was her, and the fact that I never, ever wanted to see her hurt again.
I'd kill for her.
I'd die for her.
I'd go to prison for her.
Hell, if she told me she wanted to go to the moon, I'd find a way to take her there. I would do it. I wouldn't fail.
"You should close your eyes," I whispered.
Trace nodded and leaned her cheek against my chest. It was wet with tears. My entire body shook with anger.
If Nixon didn't kill Phoenix, I would.
And I'd enjoy every damn minute of it.
I rested my chin on her head and then, briefly, when everyone was focused on Phoenix's bloody mess, my lips touched her forehead.
I made a vow then and there.
Never again would she suffer or be afraid. I was going to take care of her. I was going to be the one to catch her tears. Even if that meant watching her be with Nixon. Even if it meant being on the outside desperately wanting to get in.
Failure wasn't an option.
Because — I protected those I loved.
And I loved her.
A sharp pain pierced my chest, and it's funny because all I could think was…. so that's what fear actually feels like.